Another Joan?
by CharlesTheBold
Summary: Joan hears of another Arcadia girl who claims to talk to God. Is she lying, or is it possible God isn't telling Joan everything? Please Review
1. Crazy Girl

**ANOTHER JOAN?**

_(Disclaimer: I have no business connection with JOAN. My only purpose in writing this story is to have fun and maybe share it)_

_(Author's Note: This story is part of a series that takes place in the year after the JOAN OF ARCADIA TV show ended. A listing of the other stories is on my profile. The main events that have happened since May 2005 are _

_(1) Joan has let Grace, Luke, and Adam into her secret _

_(2) Joan and Adam got married in June, 2006._

_(3) Joan, Adam, and Grace have graduated from high school. Luke was jumped a year and allowed to graduate with them._

_(4) The four friends have just finished a two-week trip in Europe. Grace got a job and stayed behind._

_(5) Kevin and Sister Lily have been married for a year._

_This story starts in August, 2006_)

_(Additional Note: I thought of this idea back when the series was still running, before the introduction of the Ryan Hunter character, but hadn't worked it into my stories until now.)_

**Chapter 1 Crazy Girl**

_CHANGE THE NAMES, AND THE STORY COULD BE ABOUT YOU --- Horace_

_Marriage is good for business_, Lily Girardi thought sardonically.

She had worked as a counselor at the Arcadia church ever since leaving the monastery. Young people thought she was cool because she used their slang and could talk about surfing as well as salvation. But since she married Kevin Girardi, she noticed that couples and families came to her more often. No matter what the doctrine said about the unique role of the father-confessor, her visitors seemed to think a married woman would have more empathy with family problems than a celibate priest.

Not that there was anything mercenary about her marriage. Kevin's salary as a newspaperman was not much larger than Lily's, and a lot of it went toward special tools and gadgets to deal with his paralysis. They had to economize by living in a small, but neat, apartment. She had to do some "guy" chores at home that Kevin couldn't. But all that was OK with Lily, because she loved Kevin. And she was amazed at how some of the couples who came to her managed to screw up their marriages -- though she was careful not to put it that way when counseling them..

Now another couple was coming for counseling. This pair, called the O'Brians, seemed affectionate enough. They were in their mid-thirties, which was older than Lily was used to; many of the people who came for advice were young and inexperienced.

She asked some preliminary questions. They were from a suburb of Kansas City, and were longtime Catholics. Recently Mrs. O'Brien had been promoted to head of their company's Maryland branch, and so they had moved to Arcadia two months ago with their 14-year-old daughter, Deborah. It seems the Deborah was the problem.

"She says she talks with Jesus," said Mr. O'Brian.

"And that's bad?"

"I'm not talking about praying," said the mother. "Debbie says she CHATS with him. Not just religious matters, but about horseback riding and her favorite Internet sites. She says that he comes to visit her."

"Are you sure some imposter isn't taking advantage of her?" Lily remembered a disturbing British story, WHISTLE DOWN THE WIND, about a con man exploiting the faith of a naïve religious girl.

"I don't think it's anybody flesh and blood," said Mr. O'Brian. "There was one evening when the house was thoroughly locked and the burglar alarm activated, and she said that he still came."

"Does Debbie have any friends?" asked Lily.

"I'm afraid not," answered Mrs. O'Brien. "By the time we moved in, school was out and the children of the town had scattered. She's met with some girls at the riding stable or on-line, but she doesn't seem that close with them. And she hasn't stayed in touch with her pals back in Missouri."

So maybe a lonely girl had dreamed up an imaginary friend. For the friend to take the form of Jesus seemed odd, but not unheard of. There was a hymn with the refrain "He walks with me and He talks with me." Still, 14 sounded rather old.

Lily tried another tack. A supposed religious vision could be cover for a spirit of rebellion. After all there was the Joan of Arc story, which seemed to fascinate Lily's in-laws. "Has Debbie ever used Jesus as an excuse for anything? Like, you forbade this or that, but Jesus said it was OK?"

"Hardly ever," said the father. "There was one occasion where we wanted to take her to a movie, and she said no, Jesus was coming for a visit. Otherwise, she's never been any trouble."

"Do you think you could bring Debbie in?"

"I don't think that would be a good idea," said Mr. O'Brian. "She realizes we're skeptical, but if we she knew we were bringing in an outsider, she'd feel betrayed."

"We ARE betraying her, aren't we?" asked the mother, looking guilty.

"You're trying to protect her," Lily soothed. "Is it all right with you if I consult with some people over the next few days?" This might be out of her league.

The mother pondered a few seconds. "If you don't name names," she said finally. The husband nodded in agreement.

"Good. Then if you can come back in a few days---"

_I feel sorry for the couple. Suppose some child in my family suddenly announced that she was chatting with God?_

-----

Lily's younger in-laws were back from Italy, but their time at home was strictly temporary. Come September, Joan, Adam, and Luke would all be going off to college. Will Girardi therefore decided to celebrate togetherness while they had it.

Unfortunately the trio did not come home in a triumphal mood.

Adam, the Girardis' son-in-law, was the only one with a completely positive outlook. While in Italy he had attended the Opera and had realized for the first time how a work of art could be enhanced by music. Even before coming home, he had E-mailed Helen and asked her to find somebody who could teach him how to read music in a couple of weeks. (Joan knew how, but apparently she was not a perfect teacher)

Joan's attempt to find the Girardi's "roots" in Italy had ended bizarrely, when she found a dying village woman who was apparently a great-something-aunt. Joan and two of her friends had gotten her to a hospital and attended her death-bed. Lily thought her sister-in-law had performed admirably in the emergency, but Joan didn't want to talk about it.

Luke had a more conventional problem. He had apparently spent a lot of European time in bed with Grace Polonski. But Grace had agreed to stay in Italy working for a world famine-relief organization, while Luke had to get ready to go to Harvard. What was worse, Luke had fallen off a horse while trying to impress Grace with his equestrian skills, and was on crutches for a while.

Will insisted on going on with the dinner anyway: maybe it would cheer the kids up. He even took a hand in the cooking to prepare some family dishes, ignoring Kevin's observation that the travelers might be tired of Italian cuisine by now.

When several attempts to ask the travelers about Italy fell flat, Will decided to lighten the mood by discussing an amusing case that had happened during their absence. He had been called to a club to investigate a reported theft, only to find that it was an unofficial nudist colony, and nobody had dressed up to greet the Law. Will wisely avoided going into anatomical details and instead stressed the incongruity of the situation. "Normally I'm not allowed to do strip searches, but this time I didn't even have to ask. I'd just look at the suspects."

Lily giggled, but none of the younger ones took the bait.

Helen picked up the ball. "I wonder if any of the club members would be willing to go into modeling? It's so hard to find sitters willing to pose _au naturel_--"

"Yeah," said Adam.

Joan glared at him. _"I'm_ willing to pose for you."

"Right," said Luke drily. "And then you're too embarrassed to let anybody see the picture afterward, even me."

_Yikes, don't let the Traumatized Trio spoil the mood._ Lily decided to bring up her own story. "I get odd cases of my own. It's not as risque as Will's story, and I can't name names, but there's a case of a teenage girl who claims that she gets visits from God---"

CLANKETY-CLINGCLING-CLACK.

Lily looked around in astonishment at the reaction to her story. Joan, Adam, and Luke had simultaneously dropped their eating utensils. It was Joan who first found her voice.

"She _WHAT_?"

TBC


	2. Delving into Secrets

**ANOTHER JOAN?**

**Season 2 Delving into Secrets**

"A couple came in to complain that their 14-year-old daughter claimed to get visits from Jesus and chatted with him like he was the guy next door." Lily looked around. "I've heard of a penny dropping, but not three sets of silverware. What's going on?"

Joan glanced around. Lily, Kevin, Mom, and Dad were looking puzzled. Luke and Adam were staring at Joan, as if to say that in Godly matters she was the one in charge.

Had the time finally come, she wondered, to reveal the secret once and for all, with Adam and Luke to back her up? If she was dealing with just one outsider, she might have risked it, but she found the opposition too formidable, knowing their characters as she did. Dad didn't believe in God, and Kevin, though not doctrinaire on the subject, had never shown any interest in religion. Lily, who obviously WAS interested, had just expressed her skepticism at the notion of "chatting" with the Almighty. And Mom was basically unpredictable; she had been hovering between Lily's philosophy and Dad's for almost two years.

On the other hand, Joan had had an idea this past spring: that telling part of the truth might make it easier to tell the whole truth later.

"It's a case of danger voodoo--" she began.

"Déjà vu," corrected Luke automatically.

"Back when I had Lyme Disease, I had weird hallucinations, and in one, I thought was talking straight to God. I told Adam at the time. God didn't look like pictures of Jesus, or an old man with a beard, but a cute guy of roughly my age."

Mom looked startled. "That's odd. I remember a dream I once had---"

Now it was Joan's turn to stare. Was it possible that Cute Boy God had tried to appear to Mom once? Had he failed to make contact? But God didn't make mistakes, did He?

Was Mom a possible candidate for the revelation after all? But Will was the next to speak. "You never mentioned this to us."

"What was the point? I was trying to forget the hallucinations and get back in tune with the real world. I did tell Luke, though, when--"

"I was doing a psychology project at school," Luke improvised.

Kevin didn't know what was going on, but apparently he felt some loyalty to his siblings to get them out of an awkward jam. "So what else can you tell us about this couple at your church?" he asked his wife.

"Nothing," she said, staring at her plate. "I've blabbed too much already. I just wish everybody'd forget what I said--"

_That makes four of us,_ thought Joan.

----

Because of his broken leg, Luke was temporarily living in the ground-floor room that had once been donated to Aunt Olive. He could have used Kevin's lift to get upstairs, but that was designed for wheelchairs, not guys on crutches. It was the most natural thing in the world for Joan and Adam to stop by before retiring to their home in Adam's studio. It was also cover for a conversation in confidence.

Luke was on his computer as they walked in, but he hastily blanked the screen.

"No need for that, Luke," Joan teased. "We know you're talking with Grace." Though, come to think of it, it should be the middle of the night in Italy. Maybe he was leaving Email messages.

"Yeah," said Luke, "but you don't know WHAT I'm saying to her."

"Raunchy stuff, huh?"

"Yeah," Luke repeated hastily, too hastily. Joan was suspecting that he was actually writing maudlin I-love-yous. In which case it was probably good that they interrupted him. Grace would have low tolerance for such fluff.

"Let's change the subject," declared Joan, getting tired of the teasing. "We gotta find out about this girl."

"Well, you're not getting any more out of Sister Lily," Adam observed. "The Church has had centuries to work out rules about confidentiality. The confessional, you know."

"Then we'll have to find out indirectly," declared Joan. "I wish Veronica Mars was here, instead of being stuck in California."

"All those beaches and waves, poor girl," Luke said sarcastically. "But seriously, Joan, why get involved?"

"Do you remember last year, when Grace overheard me talking to God, and the two of you were convinced that somebody was taking advantage of me? Well, I think somebody's exploiting this girl, and we can put a stop to it."

"But you WEREN'T getting exploited, Jane," Adam reminded his wife. "So why couldn't this girl be on the level as well?"

"If God's talking to her, why wouldn't He tell me?"

"Think 'Mysterious Ways'," said Luke. "And from a practical point of view, what can we do? Sister Lily isn't going to volunteer any more information. Are you going to spy on her? Because if you get caught, she'll feel violated, professionally as well as personally. Do you want your sister-in-law to hate you for the rest of your life? I don't."

"Maybe you could hack into--"

"No. There are certain things I refuse to do, and using my computer skills to pry into an innocent's affairs is one of them. I did it last fall because I was convinced that Ryan Hunter was a threat to the community. This isn't that sort of an emergency. If you can give me evidence that the girl is in danger, I may change my mind."

Joan wished that God would appear in one of His forms and break up the impasse, tell them the right thing to do. But He didn't. Not in the Girardi home, nor on the way back to the studio. As the Girardi-Roves pulled out their sofa-bed, Joan gave up for the night. They would have to make a moral choice on their own -- which actually put them in the same situation that normal humans felt all of their lives.

"I don't know," said Joan, snuggling up against her husband. "Maybe Luke's right and this is much ado about nothing. But I think God prompted Lily to mention the girl, because He WANTS me to look into this."

"If it means that much to you, Jane, I'll help out," said Adam. It was characteristic of him that he usually avoided speculation on "what God wants", and accepted the others' interpretations, particularly Joan's.

"How?"

"I've got sort of an idea. Have you ever read THE INVISIBLE MAN?"

"There are three INVISIBLE MANS," said Joan, benefiting from three years working in a bookstore. "H.G. Wells' science-fiction story, Chesterton's mystery, and Ralph Ellison's satire."

"I'm thinking about the Chesterton version. A guy goes in a heavily guarded building and murders his rival, and nobody remembers seeing him go in. Why? Because he disguised himself as the mailman, whom everybody EXPECTED to go in. It made him effectively invisible."

"Well, I don't want to murder somebody, just get extra information from Sister Lily. What are you planning?"

He told her his idea.

TBC


	3. Impressions

**ANOTHER JOAN?**

**Chapter 3 Impressions**

"'Impressions of the Holy City'?" repeated Father Ken. "Interesting idea."

"Thank you, sir," said Adam smoothly. "Lily seemed very interested in my sketches. She said they were more personal than photos or video would have been." That much was true, and if Father Ken double-checked with Lily, she could confirm that part of the story. "So I thought your congregation would be interested in a painting."

"I like the idea," said the priest. "But I can't commission a painting on my own; I'd have to put it before the Board."

"I'm not seeking a commission. I'm willing to do it for free."

"Oh?" Father Ken was not mercenary in the ordinary sense, certainly not for himself. But Adam knew he was conscious of the need to raise money for charities; indeed, Mrs. G had first run into him during a fund-raising campaign. He would be impressed by a free gift. And it helped that Helen had also donated a picture a year earlier when Kevin married Lily: a picture of Joan of Arc that had proven popular.

"Yes, sir. My going to Europe was a lucky accident, a bequest from my wife's aunt. So I'd like to share the luck. But there are a couple of complications."

"Fixable, I hope?"

"Yes. My wife and I are going off to college at the end of the month, so I've got to start this painting NOW. And the picture's going to be big and our studio-apartment is very cluttered with stuff we've bought for school. It would help if I could do the painting here."

"Well, I wouldn't want to have easels and stuff left behind in the worship area, but there's plenty of space 'backstage', so to speak," said Father Ken. "The office area, for example--"

Including Lily's office. "Fine."

---------------

And so the next day he brought his easel, a large canvas, and other tools. He fussed about positioning his easel "for lighting" until he was positioned near the corridor leading to Lily's office. The lighting actually wasn't as good in this section, but nobody but Mrs. G would know that.

Of course to make the ruse convincing, he would actually have to paint something, but that was no problem for Adam.

He made no attempt to conceal from Lily that he was there. Indeed, at midmorning she came out to chat. Adam was making an outline in pencil at the very top of the canvas, of two hands whose extended fingers were nearly touching each other.

"Let me guess," said Lily. "Creation of Adam, right? From the Sistine Chapel ceiling."

"Yeah. Can't draw it on the actual ceiling, but I'm putting it as high as possible on the wall."

"Creation of Adam in a double sense, eh? Because you're Adam."

Adam laughed. "I'm just a copyist."

"You doin' this by memory, or have you got a model?"

"Oh, I printed out a copy from the Internet. Here it is."

She glanced at the paper. "You know, it's sad. All that beauty at the beginning of humanity, and then look at the mess we've made of it. Well, back to work cleanin' it up."

As the day went on, and Adam watched people pass by on the way to Lily's office, Adam could see what she was talking about. One of the first was a girl several years younger than Adam and with a swollen belly, obviously a case of teen pregnancy, like Bonnie. Later a sixtyish woman in black dabbing at her eyes, possibly a recent widow. Then came a young couple. Adam hoped they were the ones that Lily had mentioned, but they bickered in undignified fashion in Adam's presence, and it was clear that their problem was each other, not a daughter. At least it proved that he was effectively invisible.

Adam was starting to gain new respect for his sister-in-law. His own lifestyle, aside from the occasions where he had to get a day job, enabled him to "live in the Whole and the Beautiful", as Goethe had put it, and to work his own hours except when they irritated Joan. Lily, on the other hand, spent her days helping to shoulder other people's problems, none of which looked as if they could be solved in a day. And, unlike Joan, she did all that without a specific directive from God, though undoubtedly Lily thought of herself as carrying out the Lord's work, underneath the Surfer Girl pose.

All of that made Adam feel guilty about spying and lying to Lily. He told himself that he and Jane weren't BETRAYING Lily; they were helping her do her job, using special knowledge of the situation that Lily lacked.

Adam tried to put the disturbing thoughts out of his head for a while by losing himself in his painting. In a couple of hours he had the penciled outlines of Adam and the Almighty -- the latter of whom, Adam reflected, looked like none of his avatars. He decided to dispense with the complicated background behind God -- this was supposed to be just "impressions", after all. The painter Adam was more bothered as to what to do with the painted Adam's nakedness. Even Michelangelo had gotten into some fuss over displaying explicit anatomy, and this was an American church. He'd better think up some sort of fig leaf--

"That looks cool."

Adam turned around in surprise and found himself looking at a girl several years younger than he. Unlike most of the people passing through, she looked basically healthy and cheerful, in jeans, new blouse, and boots. He hadn't noticed her come into the hallway; had he missed anybody else?

But she was expecting an answer. "Thank you. It's from the Sistine Chapel--"

"Yeah. I've seen pictures." She seemed to think for about half a minute. "Do you do religious pictures a lot?"

"Some." Most of them were inspired by Joan and her divine friend, not by conventional religious piety, but the girl didn't have to know that. "Why?"

She walked up with a conspiratorial air and whispered: "If you want to know what Jesus really looks like, I can tell you!"

TBC


	4. The Game's Not Afoot

**ANOTHER JOAN?**

**Chapter 4 The Game's Not Afoot**

_Le style c'est l'homme meme (the style is the man) -- Count Buffon_

_It's her_, thought Adam_. The girl who supposedly talks to Jesus._

He told himself not to be too aggressive. Let Jane do the heavy sleuthing. Just play the friendly grown-up and keep her talking. Fortunately Adam had had a lot of practice in sounding out of touch.

"It's odd," Adam remarked, picking up a finer pencil, "but there's an odd consensus in Art of how Jesus is supposed to look. You can always pick him out of a painting. Tall, flowing hair with a brownish tinge, a beard--"

"They've got it all wrong," said the girl. "He's short, and His hair is completely black."

"How do you know?" asked Adam, making it sound like a game

"I just do." The girl looked around nervously. "Do you know where I can find a Ms. Golightly?"

"Girardi? Yeah. Just down that hallway, third office on the left."

"Thanks." The girl started off, then hesitated and turned back toward Adam. "Um, you won't tell my parents I was here, will you? They think I'm riding my horse in the park."

"Who are your parents?" Adam asked with feigned casualness. At this point it sounded like a logical question to ask.

"The O'Briens." She went off again as Adam made a mental note of the name. Detain the girl any further and she might get suspicious. Presumably she had heard of her parents' visit somehow and wanted to get her side of the story in with Lily. Adam would love to know what they were saying, but there was a limit to how much his conscience would let him pry.

-----

He wasn't able to discuss his findings immediately with Joan, however. He couldn't call from the church for fear that Lily or her friends might overhear. When he got home, it was another night to have dinner at the senior Girardis' house. After dinner was one of the few "windows" in which they could communicate with Grace over the time difference: early evening in Arcadia, pre-midnight hours in Italy. Luke invited the couple into his makeshift bedroom after some private exchanges with his girlfriend.

_We're through with the riding tests, _Grace typed_. They know I can handle a mount on rough terrain now. But it reminds me that I need to do something about my own horse, Polly, now that I know I'm not coming home soon. It would be awkward to offer her back to the Beghs, but I can't just sell off a gift._

_Ask your father, _Luke returned_. As a rabbi he might know of some worthy charities that could use her._

_Good idea. In the meantime, you can ride her if you like._

Luke changed the subject. Having broken his leg in his last attempt, he obviously did not intend to get back on a horse any time soon, particularly since he had only been riding to impress Grace. _What are you doing now?_

_I'm going to start studying Italian now,_ Grace typed_. Not just to get by while I'm here, but it'll be good practice for later. Hopefully, with Italian and Hebrew under my belt, I'll be able to learn local languages more easily when I travel._

_Good strategy, _Luke typed back_. Learn the basic principles, and each language will be just a specific example._

_What about you guys?_

"What do I tell her?" Luke asked them. "Do you want to mention that weird girl?"

"No," said Adam. "Just tell her I've started a new picture for Lily's church." His wife gave him an odd look but did not argue.

It wasn't until they were in bed in his studio that Adam told Joan his thoughts in full. "That description of Jesus was interesting. Lischak told us once that people of past generations tended to be shorter than us, because of different foods they ate. And a guy from the Middle East probably would have purely black hair. Maybe she really is talking to the real Jesus. Jane, I think that we should stop the snooping I'm starting to enjoy the painting for its own sake, anyway."

"No," said Joan. "Something's fishy."

"Jane, are sure you're not just channeling that California friend of yours, Veronica Mars? Finding a mystery where there isn't one?"

"There IS a mystery," insisted Joan. "Look at it this way. In the three years that I've been talking to Him, God has been very careful never to cite one particular religion as the "true" one. He's asked me to look at the various religious books in my store -- the Torah, the Christian Bible, the Koran, the Baggy-Giddy book from India -- but He's never cited one particular scripture as the most accurate. The only time He asked me to attend a religious service was Grace's bat mizvah, and that was for Grace's sake."

"Um, yes," said Adam, seeing what she was driving at.

"Now He's taking the form of Jesus, the founder of one specific religion? It's not His style. . Somebody's impersonating Him, in order to take advantage of the girl. We got to save her."

"Yeah," Adam acknowledged, reluctantly. Argument on the basis of style had a particular appeal to him as an artist. But could the argument be applied to a God Whom none of them really understood?.

"At least you found out a lot. Her last name's O'Brien, and she rides horses in the park. Could you draw me a sketch of her?"

"In the morning. Only thing is, I need to stick with the painting. Father Ken and Lily are going to get suspicious if I drop it suddenly, now that we've got the information." He was a bit irked that his wife didn't seem to understand the importance of his painting in itself.

Adam continued with the work for the next two days. He finished with the Creation of Adam and started a new section, a reproduction of the Four Rivers Fountain with the towering Egyptian obelisk. The obelisk impinged on part of the Creation of Adam painting, at a very convenient spot.

Lily was late that day; a doctor's appointment, according to Father Ken. But she returned to the church in high spirits. When she saw the painting and saw what Adam was doing with the obelisk, she burst out laughing. "Usin' one phallic symbol to cover up another one? Very funny."

"You know about phallic symbols?" asked Adam awkwardly. This was not the sort of thing one usually discussed with one's sister-in-law.

"I've read up on standard psychology. Sometimes the people I counsel really do need their heads examined, so I need to know when to send them for professional help. Besides, it was on my mind at the moment."

"It was?"

"Adam, I've got to tell somebody the news. The doctor says Kevin and I are havin' a baby."

"Lily, that's wonderful!" Adam took a step toward her and hesitated. "Um, is it OK to hug somebody in church?"

"What, an ex-nun, married, and with a new baby inside? Absolutely not. But do it anyway."

Adam embraced her. The vague malaise of the past few days vanished as he contemplated the idea of new life. A new generation for the Girardi family. He and Joan had decided to wait a few years, but Lily was clearly delighted with the situation. "Can I tell Jane?"

"I'd rather you wouldn't. I'd like to spring it on the Girardi family all at once, tonight at dinner. Keep it under your hat?"

Adam tool off his beanie and pantomimed putting something on his head.

"Thanks."

At noon, Adam strolled to the nearest café, not because he was particularly hungry but because he had promised to call Joan during lunch. As he walked and punched his cell phone, he wondered what to say that wouldn't give away Lily's secret. As it turned out, Joan wasn't interested in gossip, but in solving her mystery. "Adam, it's great that you called. I got a new idea."

Adam groaned.

TBC

Joan, mangling long words as usual, is trying to refer to the Bhagavad-Gita.


	5. Expecting

**ANOTHER JOAN?**

**Chapter 5 Expecting**

_(Author's Note: I deliberately left the speakers' names off the soliloquies, because I thought it would be fun to work out who is thinking what. The actual list is at the bottom of this chapter)_

Lily's announcement of her pregnancy at the Girardis that night created a sensation. Will and Helen disappeared into the kitchen and brought out a special bottle of wine that they had been saving for years for a special occasion, persuading Lily that there was no harm in indulging in it this early in her condition. Even Luke, who usually avoided alcohol because of Grace's aversion to it, shared a glass and seemed uncharacteristically giddy with joy.

But after the initial excitement settled down, each member of the family began pondering the news, in his or her own way.

------

"To think that, back when I was feuding with my step-relatives, I had rebelled against the very notion of 'family'. Now here I am, not only a father but prepared to be a grandfather withini the year. . I feel like I ought to feel thankful to --- something. Luck? To the efforts of everybody to make our family life work through all vicissitudes? To whatever brought me this happiness, thank you."

------

"So I'm going to be a grandmother. That makes me feel old. But I felt the same way when the kids married, when Joan and Luke managed a European trip all on their own, and everything turned out well. Once the baby's born, I'll probably forgot my own concerns and enjoy taking care of it. Lily may need my help; I doubt they teach you much about child care in a nunnery--"

------

"Of course I knew it ahead of time, but it still takes getting used to. I'm never going to be able to play soccer with the kid, or many of the other things Dads do, but I'll do my best to guide my child. If nothing else, I'll do my best to teach it not to make the mistake I did.

It's so unfair to Lily. Already she has to do most of the chores because I can't get out of my wheelchair, and now there's pregnancy and childbirth on top of that. I've got to help out the best I can."

------

"There are few things as inevitable as having a baby. Up to today I wasn't even sure that I had a child in my womb, but in a few months it's going to grow big and dominate my life. The doctor can even predict within a few days when I'll go into labor. Not looking forward to that, but afterwards ----!

All that's just physical, but I think it's symbolic as well. I feel like I did when I went into the monastery, that God has a plan for me. Except this time, I'm right about what the plan is."

-------

"I remember when Bonnie was pregnant and staying with us. It was all a case of blundering through day by day: neither Bonnie nor I knew much about babies, and my Dad couldn't remember much about when my Mom had me (or maybe it's too painful for him to think back to those days). I'm glad the Cavallos took her and the baby in at the end.

This time I'm going to see it done right. Lily wants the baby and she's surrounded by in-laws that'll help out at every step. I'll do my best to help, too, whatever it is."

--------

"Birth is so different than everything else. All the rest of the world is bound by conservation laws, but life keeps multiplying. There's new life inside Lily.

Biologists think they can tame it, control it, with talk about DNA and controlled mutations. I know God wants me to focus on biology instead of physics, but I still haven't got the right mindset. Birth still seems too miraculous.

Gotta E-mail Grace about this. I hope she doesn't think I'm dropping hints about HER. But after all she's an ocean away, so she's pretty safe."

--------

"My God, I'm going to be an aunt. I know that I'm not ready to have a baby myself, and thank God I wasn't rushed into it like Glynis and Friedmann were. But I'll watch over it, and learn, for when my turn comes. I wonder if He's planned it out this way?

But it's not just a matter of waiting for the baby to come out of Lily_. What you do unto the least of these, you do unto me_. I already know of a girl in danger, and it looks like it's up to Adam and me to rescue her. Grace is away, Luke can't get his mind off his problems, and nobody else understands the danger. But I've got a plan, and we'll carry it out Saturday. I hope we're not too late---.

TBC

_(Author's Note: The speakers, in order, are Will, Helen, Kevin, Lily, Adam, Luke, and Joan)_


	6. Joan Charges into Action

**ANOTHER JOAN?**

**Chapter 6 Joan Charges into Action**

_(Author's Note: Joan the Klutz is back, for one chapter)_

_It seemed a good plan at the time, _Joan reflected, trying to tune out the smell of horse dung.

Her plan had seemed an elegant chain of reasoning, like one of those logical exercises that Luke called "proofs". They needed to find the O'Brien girl, and the one thing that they knew about her activities was that she sometimes rode horses in the city park. Saturday was a logical day for the girl to pursue her hobby. Therefore, Joan and Adam should station themselves beside the bridle path and look for her.

Of course they'd look silly hovering around the bridle path without a horse of their own, but one was readily available. Grace's palomino Polly was still being stabled at the Begh horse farm while Rabbi Polonski sought a suitable charity to donate it to. The rabbi knew how much Grace trusted Adam and Joan, and saw nothing odd in loaning the horse to them. Maggie Begh drove the animal to the park in a horse van and agreed to retrieve it later in the day. Naturally neither Maggie nor the Rabbi knew what the Girardi-Rove couple was up to.

The catch was that neither Joan nor Adam had any experience in the saddle, unless one counted the occasion when Joan rode behind Grace in a rural section in Italy. Adam's artistic skills came to the rescue again. He had often been seen in the park sketching trees and flowers to be incorporated in his artworks. Who would be suspicious of the artist sketching a beautiful woman holding an equally beautiful palomino? (The "beautiful woman" description was Adam's addition. Joan wasn't that conceited.)

And so Joan had been standing for more than an hour, holding Polly by the reins. It was August and quite hot, and the horse droppings on the bridle path stank. What was scarier, Polly kept shaking her head and stomping her feet. Joan had no idea whether that was normal horsy behavior or a preliminary to a rebellion. If she did rebel, Joan was uneasily aware that Polly was much larger and heavier than Joan herself was. Joan had once had a phobia about horses, and it threatened to erupt again.

"I see her, Jane." Adam muttered. "She's several yards behind you, on the path."

"Thank God. I don't dare turn around, Adam; you'll have to get her attention."

Joan heard horses' hooves behind her and to her left, on the path. At the proper moment, Adam feigned surprise. "Oh! Hello again."

Joan turned to see an attractive young girl on horseback. "What---? Oh!" said the girl. She reined in her mount. "It's you, the artist guy, Mr., um---"

"Rove. Adam Rove. And this is my wife, Joan."

"Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Rove," said the girl with well-programmed politeness. Joan actually preferred to style herself "Joan Girardi-Rove", but she kept her mouth shut; the girl might get suspicious as to why Joan had the same name as the counselor at the church. "That's a lovely horse you've got."

"Actually it's a friend's," said Joan conversationally. Put the girl at ease. "Adam wanted to draw a sketch of it."

Adam waved his book. "I collect lots of sketches, in case I want to incorporate them into artworks later. It's one of the ways we work. Say, I remember you telling me about your, ahem, Friend. Do you think I could draw a sketch of Him? As you pointed out, I'd be the only artist with an accurate likeness."

The O'Brien girl fidgeted in her saddle. Apparently she regretted that earlier revelation. "Um, I don't think so. I can't even talk Him into meeting my parents." She picked up the reins again, obviously wanting to end the conversation and lacking adult experience with tact. "I gotta go. Bye." She urged her horse into a trot and Joan found herself watching its receding rump.

"Adam, she's getting away!"

"I know, Jane, but what can we do about it? We can't outrun a horse."

Joan looked at Polly. Maggie Begh had saddled her before leaving the area, because Adam supposedly wanted to paint Joan as an equestrienne. Joan backed up a couple of steps and put her left foot in the stirrup.

"Jane, what the hell are you doing? You don't know how to ride!"

"I've watched Grace enough times," she insisted. On her third attempt she managed to hoist herself up onto Polly's back. "I think I know what to--"

At which point Polly bolted.

"Whoa!" Joan shouted. "Whoa!" But the horse paid no attention. Adam had to dodge out of the way while the horse and rider dashed forward.

Joan knew she should pull on the reins to signal the horse to stop. But those handy controls were still hanging down from Polly's head; Joan had forgotten to keep hold on them while mounting the horse. She bent forward to try to grab them, but nearly lost her balance.

The one piece of good news was that she was headed in the general direction of the O'Brien girl. Within about twenty seconds, she caught up with the other horse and rider and passed them.

Up ahead was Sidney Street, which formed the park's eastern boundary, and was one of Arcadia's main thoroughfares. If the horse got in traffic, it could get hit, or create an accident One of the drivers saw the danger and honked his horn, as if Joan was too dumb to know what she was doing. The noise spooked Polly, who reared up. Joan held on desperately and managed to stay on the mare.

The O'Brien girl rushed up from behind Joan. She soothed the mare, patting her head and saying some words that Joan was too frazzled to follow. Finally Polly stopped jerking around and Joan thought it safe to dismount. But she lost her footing in the stirrup, and wound up landing on her rear. That was painful, but nowhere near as bruising as the blow to Joan's ego.

Even after three years of being lectured by Little Girl God, few things were more humiliating than for a grownup married woman to be rescued by a fourteen-year-old girl.

TBC


	7. Protecting Debbie

**ANOTHER JOAN?**

**Chapter 7 Protecting Debbie**

"Jane! Jane!" called Adam, running up. "Are you OK?"

"I think so," said Joan, rubbing her backside. "Except I think I've got my phobia back. If I ever get NEAR another horse, just slap me, OK?"

Polly was unapologetically grazing on the park grass. As far as Joan was concerned, she could do that forever -- except for the fact that Joan had to return the mare to Maggie Begh.

"Maybe it's a matter of chemistry," suggested Adam with a straight face. "Added to what happened to Luke, maybe Girardis and horses don't mix. Like oil and water."

"Debbie, where are you?" called a forceful female voice. A well-dressed woman in her thirties came into view from the trees, followed by an insignificant-looking man of roughly the same age. "Why are you so near the street? Where are the Voysons? And who are these people?"

"This is Adam and Jane Rove," Debbie piped up. "They're friends of mine."

Debbie probably intended for that remark to be reassuring, but of course it had the opposite effect. No parents wanted their daughter to be "friends" with grownups whom they knew nothing about, and the O'Briens scrutinized the Girardi-Roves as if they were a pair of dubious insects. Suddenly Mr. O'Brien's expression softened.

"I recognize you," he said. "You were the artist at the church, painting that picture of Rome, right?"

"Yes," said Adam.

"And YOU look familiar too," mused Mrs. O'Brien, gazing at Joan. "Oh! That painting in the church atrium. Joan of Arc."

"Yes, I was the model for that."

The church connection seemed to calm the O'Briens somewhat. Mrs. O'Brien seemed to reach a decision. "My husband and I are eating at Olive Garden tonight. Care to join us?"

It sounded hospitable, but Joan could see through that. The O'Briens wanted to size them up. But if Adam and Joan could convince them that their intentions were honorable, then she could have an entrée to Debbie. "Yes, thank you."

"6:30. Debbie, come along. We're going to turn in your horse at the stable and go home. We have things to talk about."

"Yes, Mom," said Debbie, clearly not looking forward to the talk. She got up on her rented mount for the final ride.

"Just a moment," said Joan. She hated to say the next sentence, but her sense of honor required her to give Debbie credit. "My horse ran way with me just now, and Debbie calmed it down so that I could get off safely. That's a brave daughter that you have."

"Thank you, maybe too brave. Let's go." The parents walked away, their daughter riding behind them.

"That was awkward," Adam said. "I mean, do I look like a sexual predator to you?"

Joan took one look at her husband and burst out laughing. "It was just the circumstances. If we're careful, this may turn out to be to our advantage. Adam, will you take Polly under control and take her to meet Maggie when she comes to pick her up? I'm going to find the park washroom, and be sick for a while."

On reaching home, Joan showered off the sweat and dressed in a more formal pair of pants. She really wanted to redo her hair after her wild ride, but lacked the time; she compromised by pulling it back in a pony-tail. Appearances could be everything.

At the start of the dinner things seemed less tense than Joan had feared. Apparently the O'Briens had contacted Father Ken, who had vouched for the young couple. The only negative that the priest knew about the couple was Adam's panic on their wedding day, which scarcely implied too much aggression. Joan was glad she didn't go to confession.

As Joan had noted, Adam's usual passivity seemed reassuring to the O'Briens. Joan herself, pretending not to know that she was being examined, tried to chat. Fortunately she had a built-in conversation piece, talking about their recent trip to Europe. She left out the weird parts, like discovering her dying great-great-aunt.

The topic turned to horses, not surprisingly given this afternoon's misadventure. Joan winced but tried to sound philosophical. "I've always had bad luck with horses. Two years ago, I visited a stable and got bit by a tick. Ended up coming down with Lyme Disease."

"Oh, dear, that sounds horrible," said Mr. Brian.

"Yeah." Inspiration struck Joan. "At one point I had hallucinations, which I mistook for religious visions. Fortunately, Adam straightened me out. I mean, I DO believe in a God, but why, out of billions of people in the world, would He want to visit an ordinary girl in a little Maryland town?"

The O'Briens stared at each other. As Joan intended, they saw the parallel with their daughter.

Finally the couple felt secure enough to discuss their own situation. "It was an honor to be promoted by my company, but the transfer came at the worst possible time for Debbie," said the mother. "Months away from school, yet too late to sign her up for most summer activities. And both of our jobs keep us away from home a lot. We worry about her during the day. The counselor at the church says she thinks she can get Debbie into a program even though it's in its last weeks, so that's a load off our minds."

"Mrs. O'Brien, let's be frank. I know that you invited Adam and me because you were suspicious of us, and I understand that. A, um, relative of mine had a bad experience in her youth, and she advised me to always be careful." Joan was NOT going to say outright that her mother had been raped; that was something Helen did not want discussed. "In fact, I'm a bit surprised you let her ride in the park alone."

"It wasn't planned that way. She was supposed to ride with a neighboring woman and her daughter. But the daughter fell ill and Deborah didn't find out until she reached the park. She should have called us, but apparently she thought she was safe on a horse; that she could always gallop away from danger. But she lacks the sophistication to see through strangers with a plausible line. We've grounded her for a while to teach her a lesson. However I'm convinced now that you're honest."

_That's good -- except that if she finds out I'm related to Sister Lily, she may decide there are too many suspicious coincidences. As far as she knows, Adam is an artist they happened to bump into twice, and I'm just Adam's wife, and a really bad horsewoman. _

To Joan's relief, Mr. O'Brian spoke up. "My dear, perhaps the Roves can help us--".

The O'Brians had left Debbie with another neighbor during the dinner. Now they were willing to let Joan talk to her, trying to convince her that she wasn't getting visits from Jesus. She had been working her way towards this opportunity for almost a week, but was not entirely sure how to use it.

"Debbie," she said tentatively, "I'd like to talk to you. I understand that you have a Friend--"

"You mean Jesus. Nobody believes me," whined Debbie.

"Oh, I believe you." Joan rejected immediately the possibility that Debbie was delusional. She had met enough messed-up girls in Crazy Camp to know the difference. "I just don't believe Him. That it is Him. Just because people say that they're good, or religious, is no reason to believe them. There are such things as hypocrisy and outright deceit."

Joan wished that Grace or Luke was doing this. They were both natural skeptics, Grace because she didn't trust people, Luke because it was part of his scientific philosophy. Joan's mind didn't work that way.

"Oh, I know that," said Debbie, clearly annoyed at being patronized. "Like the guy that ran the Maryland branch of my Mom's company. They thought he was so brilliant, then they found that he was cooking the books. That's why Mom was sent here."

"But you're certain that your Friend is the real thing?"

"Oh, yeah. He told me things about his life that a lot of people don't know or get wrong. Like, the Pharisees were friends of his. They didn't argue because they were mad at each other, they did it because it was customary for rabbis to challenge each other back then."

Joan was rattled. One of her Jewish friends -- Glynis, she thought -- had made exactly the same point once, that the "arguments" reported in the gospel may really have been traditional Talmudic debates, derived by the Greek tradition of the Socratic dialogue. How on earth had Debbie's mysterious visitor known THAT?

Trying to conceal her misgivings, Joan said," Just because his story is plausible and detailed doesn't mean it's true. There's no way to check what happened two thousand years ago, is there? Your Friend could say anything--"

Debbie lost her temper. "Oh, why should I listen to YOU? You're barely a grownup, and you're so dumb that you let your horse run away with you. What are you and your husband up to? Spying on me?"

Since that was exactly what Joan had been doing, albeit with good intentions, Joan was at a loss for an answer. Encouraging skepticism while covering up things herself was beyond Joan's skills. This interview had failed. Walking to the door, Joan said, "I'm just trying to protect you. Maybe, a few years from now, you'll understand that. I just hope it isn't too late then."

Alone, out of Debbie's sight, Joan started to cry, with accumulated frustration and embarrassment.

_I've really screwed up this mission, haven't I?_

_Or is it really a mission? God never told me to intervene. I just thought--_

_What the hell is going on here?_

TBC


	8. The Parable of the Rings

**ANOTHER JOAN?**

**Chapter 8 The Parable of the Rings**

On the drive home, Joan felt another bout of tears coming on, and rummaged for something to wipe her eyes. "Oh, crap. I think I left my handkerchief in the Ladies Room at the park. Can we go back for it, Adam?"

"It's been a long day," Adam complained, "and the room may be locked up by now. Is it important?"

"I bought the handkerchief from a sidewalk stand in Florence. It would be hard to replace."

Adam privately thought that it would probably be easy to find a copy on the Internet, but he didn't want to argue. He changed direction toward the park.

A few minutes later he saw flashing lights projected from behind them, and checked the rear-view mirror. "Police car, Joan, and I doubt that it's your Dad. But I haven't done anything."

"Better pull over."

Adam did. They were now on the edge of the park. As the police officer walked up, Adam lowered his window. "Is something wrong, officer?" Joan asked from her side.

"It's an imperfect world, Joan."

She rolled up your eyes. "Policeman God. About time you showed up."

"I measure time by eternities. Why don't we sit on that bench and talk?"

"Anybody that sees us will think we've done something bad."

"I'll divert attention."

They sat on the bench. "OK, please give me a straight answer for once," demanded Joan. "Have you been visiting Debbie O'Brian?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"There are a billion stories on the Naked Planet, to coin a phrase," said God dryly. "Why do you need to know?"

"I thought she was the victim of a con game!"

"Is that the real reason you were concerned, Joan?"

There was a long pause, and Joan finally admitted: "No. I was jealous. I was afraid that you had tired of me and found another girl to be your Friend."

"Doesn't work that way, Joan. My love is infinite. Giving love to Debbie O'Brian does not diminish my love for you. As Luke might say, infinity minus a constant is still infinity."

"But why appear as Jesus?" Adam said. "It's not what you do with us."

"People differ," God said. "Unlike any of you, Debbie O'Brian has had a traditional religious bringing up. To her, God is Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Appearing in the forms that you call Cute Boy or Old Lady would confuse her a lot. At least at this stage."

"But is it real?" demanded Joan. "Was Jesus really you? Or are you just pretending to get her trust?"

"You're basically asking which religion is the true one," said God.

"Well, yes."

There was another long pause; one might even say an eternal one. And even when it stopped, God's answer was bizarre. "Joan, have you read the Boccachio's Decameron?"

"I haven't," said Adam. "What is it?"

"Collection of midieval stories," Joan said. "Like the Canterbury Tales, but even bawdier. It was in my bookstore, and I'd read some of the stories when I got bored. But what does that have to do with my question?"

"Do you remember the tale called 'The Parable of the Rings?'"

"No, and you know I don't, because you know everything," replied Joan.

"A man had three sons whom he dearly loved. He also had a beautiful ring. As death approached and he made his will, he divided his property equally among his sons, and he was puzzled what to do with the ring. No matter which son he gave it to, the other two sons would feel less loved, which was not his intention. His solution was to make two perfect copies of the ring, and so each son got a ring. They never found out which was the original, and in the end, they realized it didn't matter. All three sons had had their father's love."

"It's a beautiful story, but I don't get what you're driving at," said Adam.

"The three sons are Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. Nowadays Boccacio would probably invent more sons to cover other religions like Buddhism. The point is, none of the three can prove that they have the Truth, and it would be wrong for them to fight about it. They should all enjoy My love."

"And there are other interpretations," mused Joan. "Like one "son" could be me, and another could be Debbie, and there are probably other Friends out there. And we shouldn't get jealous of each other."

"Parables are like that, they can be interpreted in many ways. For the moment, though, I ask you to leave Debbie alone. Let me teach her in ways she will understand. And one other thing. Joan, during the past week you've been doing a lot of lying and snooping. You must stop that."

"Because it's unethical?"

"Partly, but mainly because you're terrible at it. Adam's now committed to paint at the church for the rest of August, and there was the matter of a horse--"

"Yeah, yeah, don't remind me."

"Leave the intrigue to your friend Veronica Mars."

"Do you have missions in mind for her?"

God smiled mysteriously and left with a wave.

THE END


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